. And
then, again, he was unhappy to be so near Fanny Wyndham, from day to
day, without seeing her. He was truly and earnestly attached to her,
and miserable at the threat which had been all but made by her
guardian, that the match should be broken off.

It was true that he had made up his mind not to go to Grey Abbey, as
long as he remained at Handicap Lodge, and, having made the resolution,
he thought he was wise in keeping it; but still, he continually felt
that she must be aware that he was in the neighbourhood, and could not
but be hurt at his apparent indifference. And then he knew that her
guardian would make use of his present employment--his sojourn at such
a den of sporting characters as his friend Blake's habitation--and his
continued absence from Grey Abbey though known to be in its vicinity,
as additional arguments for inducing his ward to declare the engagement
at an end.

These troubles annoyed him, and though he daily stood by and saw Brien
Boru go through his manoeuvres, he was discontented and fidgety.

He had been at Handicap Lodge about a fortnight, and was beginning to
feel anything but happy. His horse was to go over in another week,
money was not plentiful with him, and tradesmen were becoming obdurate
and persevering. His host, Blake, was not a soothing or a comfortable
friend, under these circumstances: he gave him a good deal of practical
advice, but he could not sympathise with him. Blake was a sharp, hard,
sensible man, who reduced everything to pounds shillings and pence.
Lord Ballindine was a man of feeling, and for the time, at least, a man
of pleasure; and, though they were, or thought themselves friends, they
did not pull well together; in fact, they bored each other terribly.

One morning, Lord Ballindine was riding out from the training-ground,
when he met, if not an old, at any rate an intimate acquaintance, named
Tierney. Mr or, as he was commonly called, Mat Tierney, was a bachelor,
about sixty years of age, who usually inhabited a lodge near the
Curragh; and who kept a horse or two on the turf, more for the sake of
the standing which it gave him in the society he liked best, than from
any intense love of the sport. He was a fat, jolly fellow, always
laughing, and usually in a good humour; he was very fond of what he
considered the world; and the world, at least that part of it which
knew him, returned the compliment.

"Well, my lord," said he, after a few minutes of got-up ent